Submissions by Istra
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I write because I want to filter all the chaos in my head, and get the truth of the experience out. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it's crap. But I keep trying.
How You Left Me
In a greater sin than I could ever slither into
in the recesses of my homo-fabulous mind.
In pain.
Bewildered at the consequence of something I didn't believe in
(what now? This was never supposed to happen).
On foot, both of us.
Angry at the world for giving me something so beautiful and then cruelly
twisting it out of my grasp. Some things are better left unknown to the heart.
I would rather it be so, anyway.
So alone, without a friend in the world who could fix what was broken,
although they tried, my God, how they tried....
in the recesses of my homo-fabulous mind.
In pain.
Bewildered at the consequence of something I didn't believe in
(what now? This was never supposed to happen).
On foot, both of us.
Angry at the world for giving me something so beautiful and then cruelly
twisting it out of my grasp. Some things are better left unknown to the heart.
I would rather it be so, anyway.
So alone, without a friend in the world who could fix what was broken,
although they tried, my God, how they tried....
74 reads
2 Comments
Voyeurism
I love how the sun sees you.
Golden and tethered to the rock
of him, in a field of dead grass that hasn't yet
revived from winter's angry attack.
Your hair curtaining off the view of your face but
from the top your knees are in frame and stick out
in front of you, a testament to your geometry.
And how the grass feels you, the flat of your calf
cool and long, resting on the sediment of him and
pressing firm and real on each withered blade.
Rythmic movement of a rocking horse thought.
Back and forth, back and forth, slower, faster,
first...
Golden and tethered to the rock
of him, in a field of dead grass that hasn't yet
revived from winter's angry attack.
Your hair curtaining off the view of your face but
from the top your knees are in frame and stick out
in front of you, a testament to your geometry.
And how the grass feels you, the flat of your calf
cool and long, resting on the sediment of him and
pressing firm and real on each withered blade.
Rythmic movement of a rocking horse thought.
Back and forth, back and forth, slower, faster,
first...
137 reads
3 Comments
Yes, Beautiful
We stumble.
Stumble and flutter, like
birds against a pane of glass.
"It's full of rocks. Blue things,
little blue things, everywhere. You can see them,
you can taste them. Blue."
I hold her hand and nod,
trying to dive into her mind, just a little.
Her eyes pleading with me, pleading.
We flounder.
Thrashing around, flailing for a saving grace to grab in these
deep waters, and neither of us can swim.
"Have you seen her?
They're up on the hill.
There upon the hill, I think they're all dead now."...
Stumble and flutter, like
birds against a pane of glass.
"It's full of rocks. Blue things,
little blue things, everywhere. You can see them,
you can taste them. Blue."
I hold her hand and nod,
trying to dive into her mind, just a little.
Her eyes pleading with me, pleading.
We flounder.
Thrashing around, flailing for a saving grace to grab in these
deep waters, and neither of us can swim.
"Have you seen her?
They're up on the hill.
There upon the hill, I think they're all dead now."...
88 reads
4 Comments
Maybe Misandry
I heard the thunder and remembered my broken bones.
There is a word for what you brought about in me,
but I forget.
Icy rain bleeding down the window panes, a casualty of the demands
of the water cycle. Watching them, little droplets dragged and stretched
into rivulets of liquid crystal, I remembered my broken bones.
How they ached
and shot me through with sudden arrows of unexpected pain.
It was more than that, though, wasn't it?
There was a little bit
of the martyr in me.
The curling taste of alcohol undulated on my tongue
and I...
There is a word for what you brought about in me,
but I forget.
Icy rain bleeding down the window panes, a casualty of the demands
of the water cycle. Watching them, little droplets dragged and stretched
into rivulets of liquid crystal, I remembered my broken bones.
How they ached
and shot me through with sudden arrows of unexpected pain.
It was more than that, though, wasn't it?
There was a little bit
of the martyr in me.
The curling taste of alcohol undulated on my tongue
and I...
170 reads
1 Comment
A Meditation On Trust
"I don't want to fuck you."
Removing her blazer carefully, folded and
draped (just-so) over the back of my chair.
"Well, you weren't going to be fucked, so I suppose that's a
relief."
Silk blouse, a cautious blue, (mother-of-pearl) buttons
flashing under fingers
well manicured and clean,
hands soft and no longer so
utilitarian.
On top of the blazer.
The bra, beige and lace,
straps wide,
cups firm,
wire heavy.
On top of the blouse.
"I think you're getting ahead of yourself."...
Removing her blazer carefully, folded and
draped (just-so) over the back of my chair.
"Well, you weren't going to be fucked, so I suppose that's a
relief."
Silk blouse, a cautious blue, (mother-of-pearl) buttons
flashing under fingers
well manicured and clean,
hands soft and no longer so
utilitarian.
On top of the blazer.
The bra, beige and lace,
straps wide,
cups firm,
wire heavy.
On top of the blouse.
"I think you're getting ahead of yourself."...
264 reads
6 Comments
Dance When It Hurts To Stand
I miss you like the end of a sentence,
always waiting
to hear that last word. And the ever-ready
snicker, you're so pleased with
yourself.
You're the drumbeat, baby.
Without you, the song got kind of slow
and sad.
Just me and my Epiphone, here,
tooling around.
But I'm still here, I'm still tuning,
and I'm not giving up.
Dancing by myself
in the middle of the dining room,
because I know that's what
I gotta do.
Go ahead, laugh. Ain't gonna stop me.
(dance with me like you do)
Told you I loved you,
didn't...
always waiting
to hear that last word. And the ever-ready
snicker, you're so pleased with
yourself.
You're the drumbeat, baby.
Without you, the song got kind of slow
and sad.
Just me and my Epiphone, here,
tooling around.
But I'm still here, I'm still tuning,
and I'm not giving up.
Dancing by myself
in the middle of the dining room,
because I know that's what
I gotta do.
Go ahead, laugh. Ain't gonna stop me.
(dance with me like you do)
Told you I loved you,
didn't...
226 reads
4 Comments
What It Was Like Before He Died
He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts.
A misanthropy.
She set the kettle to the fire and waited.
Long, drawn out stories of the self are evident.
In time.
Broken glass and a hundred regrets make for a tale long suppressed, a much-needed release.
He leaves nothing to the imagination.
A drag, a drag,
an insistence,
a delusion.
Nothing too sane, only the believable.
And with the colors and the waves crashing,
with the rantings and the tears and growlings,
it comes out,
it...
A misanthropy.
She set the kettle to the fire and waited.
Long, drawn out stories of the self are evident.
In time.
Broken glass and a hundred regrets make for a tale long suppressed, a much-needed release.
He leaves nothing to the imagination.
A drag, a drag,
an insistence,
a delusion.
Nothing too sane, only the believable.
And with the colors and the waves crashing,
with the rantings and the tears and growlings,
it comes out,
it...
107 reads
2 Comments
Sever
I pulled you in.
The air hot,
sluggish.
Old blood oozing throught the
empty spaces,
dragging in and out
of lungs denied.
Long denied.
Cracks in the earth,
waiting,
wanting.
I pulled you in,
ivory against my
fingerprints,
fingernails,
fingertips,
however you like it.
And I touched
rose petals
to crumpled paper.
A soft, consuming, honest pressing.
Let the water flow.
There were 168 pleas in this kiss.
Long denied.
...
The air hot,
sluggish.
Old blood oozing throught the
empty spaces,
dragging in and out
of lungs denied.
Long denied.
Cracks in the earth,
waiting,
wanting.
I pulled you in,
ivory against my
fingerprints,
fingernails,
fingertips,
however you like it.
And I touched
rose petals
to crumpled paper.
A soft, consuming, honest pressing.
Let the water flow.
There were 168 pleas in this kiss.
Long denied.
...
128 reads
2 Comments
Death Rattle
it started
a darkness with a
scraping across the tiles of my /nothingness/
that's a poor substitute of
words but it's all I have so it's what i use a
necessity of invention
an invention of necessity (some people are made for it)
it continued
a coldness and a
scratching, a removal of the skin encapsulating this
time this
thought this
face
there's such a fright in the mirror
a flash
and suddenly it's
my nightmare,
or someone's anyway
it ended
a screaming
a crawling
a thought process revoked...
a darkness with a
scraping across the tiles of my /nothingness/
that's a poor substitute of
words but it's all I have so it's what i use a
necessity of invention
an invention of necessity (some people are made for it)
it continued
a coldness and a
scratching, a removal of the skin encapsulating this
time this
thought this
face
there's such a fright in the mirror
a flash
and suddenly it's
my nightmare,
or someone's anyway
it ended
a screaming
a crawling
a thought process revoked...
145 reads
4 Comments
A Lamentation of the Plundered
We have our own grief.
A stone setting quietly between our lungs,
something cold that never goes away.
We are intruded upon.
And dismissed.
Less than you.
This is our own source of mourning.
There is no denying the way you see us.
You pretend we are equals,
a low and tasteless joke. We hear you
when you think our ears are too far away.
We see the assault of your eyes.
We smell the sweat and anger on you.
Taste our own fear.
We feel you when your hands touch whatever they want.
And other parts of you.
The rape of...
A stone setting quietly between our lungs,
something cold that never goes away.
We are intruded upon.
And dismissed.
Less than you.
This is our own source of mourning.
There is no denying the way you see us.
You pretend we are equals,
a low and tasteless joke. We hear you
when you think our ears are too far away.
We see the assault of your eyes.
We smell the sweat and anger on you.
Taste our own fear.
We feel you when your hands touch whatever they want.
And other parts of you.
The rape of...
184 reads
2 Comments
Adieu
I knew this would be the last time.
The door is shut.
Do Not Disturb.
Move the hair
from your neck,
and replace it
with my lips.
You shiver, a low moan escapes you.
Pull away and your hands reach for my
face and you caress me,
the only time you've
ever done it.
"Can't we stay the way we are?"
I ask because I have to ask.
You shake your head and
my hope dies, unresolved, undelivered.
"There's just too much."
Too much knowledge,
too much pain,
too much fear...
The door is shut.
Do Not Disturb.
Move the hair
from your neck,
and replace it
with my lips.
You shiver, a low moan escapes you.
Pull away and your hands reach for my
face and you caress me,
the only time you've
ever done it.
"Can't we stay the way we are?"
I ask because I have to ask.
You shake your head and
my hope dies, unresolved, undelivered.
"There's just too much."
Too much knowledge,
too much pain,
too much fear...
337 reads
5 Comments
Between the Breaths
Inhale.
And hold the moment closer than
you dare.
I've spent my whole life in the spaces
in between breaths,
I think. At least until you
managed to break through.
The world never held much appeal,
tired and official,
tied and superficial. Reality is a
side effect, unfortunate though that may be.
Good God, woman, what you do,
with those eyes, I say nothing and I'm still in
trouble. I wish that I could make a statement
that made sense
to you.
When you came
to this little house
did you think the...
And hold the moment closer than
you dare.
I've spent my whole life in the spaces
in between breaths,
I think. At least until you
managed to break through.
The world never held much appeal,
tired and official,
tied and superficial. Reality is a
side effect, unfortunate though that may be.
Good God, woman, what you do,
with those eyes, I say nothing and I'm still in
trouble. I wish that I could make a statement
that made sense
to you.
When you came
to this little house
did you think the...
129 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Istra